


Un Trajet Sans Retour

by Smiling_Seshat



Series: Witcher works [2]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Abduction | Kidnapping, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amnesia, Blood and Wine (The Witcher 3 DLC), Captivity, Dimension Travel, Don't copy to another site, F/F, F/M, Fix-It, M/M, Multi, Or Is It?, POV Female Character, POV First Person, Past Tense, Rescue, SI/OC, Self-Insert, Toussaint (The Witcher), Transmigration
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-22
Updated: 2020-03-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 11:06:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22849129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smiling_Seshat/pseuds/Smiling_Seshat
Summary: A person from the 21st century ends up in the duchy of Toussaint, in the Empire of Nilfgaard. She has never heard of the Witcher book series and their derived adaptations.At the same time, the duchess of Toussaint asks Geralt of Rivia to slay the Beast of Beauclair.(SI/OC. OC-Insert.)
Relationships: Anna Henrietta | Anarietta & Original Female Character(s), Dettlaff van der Eretein/Original Female Character(s), Dettlaff van der Eretein/Syanna | Rhenawedd, Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Series: Witcher works [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1649437
Comments: 34
Kudos: 111





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have about 12K written for this story already. I'll be posting one chapter per week until I run out of pre-written material.

I had been abducted.  
  
Somehow, somewhen, I had been taken from my bed whilst I was sleeping. I had been changed so that instead of wearing my customary polka-dotted pyjamas, I now wore some sort of dress, the kind women used to sleep in during the nineteenth century.  
  
The room itself looked like something out of the Renaissance era, or older. The walls were covered in wooden panels and there were several portrait paintings. There were no light-switches or lamps to be found, so I had to rely on the early morning rays to see.  
  
I stepped away from the bed I’d woken up in, cradling myself.  
  
This was definitively not my home. I also did not drink alcohol or consume drugs, so there was no logical reason for me to not remember how I’d arrived here except that I either suffered from early-onset Alzheimer’s Disease or I had been abducted. And seeing as I hadn’t even hit my mid-twenties, I was pretty sure it wasn’t Alzheimer’s.  
  
A second glance at my hands had me noticing something I hadn’t seen at first. There were callouses where there hadn’t been before. The only callous I had was on my finger from where pens or pencils rubbed against it when I was writing. And yet, when I looked at my hands, they had some new callouses that hadn’t been there before. Oh, they were still my hands, with the same shape and length, but it looked like the hands I would have after spending six months training intensively in tennis or whatever sport would give me these hands.  
  
And the other thing that surprised me was the different nail length. I liked to keep my nails long and I usually wore nail polish in whatever shade of pastel had struck my fancy. However, two days ago one of my nails had broken, forcing me to trim the others so they all remained at an even length. And yet, the hands I was looking at all had long nails and no nail polish whatsoever.  
  
Detailed analysis of my body revealed other things that were rather… off. I was slightly more toned, which was unusual as I’d recently gained weight due to binge-eating after discovering my boyfriend had cheated on me. I also had a few new scars, each looking disturbingly like slash marks, as if someone had tried to attack me with a knife or a sword.  
  
Otherwise, the rest of my body was as it should be. Same height, colouring and facial features.  
  
Could I have some form of retrograde amnesia? That could explain why my body was so different, as though it had gone through things I had not. Maybe I’d suddenly decided to work out at the gym to regain my usual fitness, had at some point been slashed at my someone with a knife, and had hit my head hard enough to forget it all?  
  
I frowned.  
  
No, that was completely ridiculous.  
  
Eager to find answers, I decided to head for the window so I could learn of my location. The view I found shocked me.  
  
Several rolling hills with a few distant vineyards. A few small villages here and there, but too far away to be very visible. In the background were several mountains.  
  
Clearly, I was no longer in the city of Lausanne.  
  
I was in the highest room of a tower with faded red walls that belonged to what was either a small castle or a large manor. The building was set on the edge of a cliff, and from my window I could look down and have a lovely view of a garden and just beyond it, the long drop of a cliff face with the small lake at the bottom.  
  
The presence of vineyards and mountains had me hoping I was still in Switzerland. One of the mountains even looked a little similar to the Matterhorn, which had me fervently wishing it was that particular mountain, but just from a different angle than I was used to seeing it.  
  
It was possible I might be in France, since it also had several mountainous regions and was just as obsessed with wine as Switzerland was, but I really hoped I was still in my own country. If I truly had been abducted, then I’d rather be as close to home as possible.  
  
I leaned out the window a little for a better view and was surprised to see a rather palatial castle in the distance, to my left. It was too far away for me to distinguish much, but what I saw was enough to convince me I was not in Switzerland.  
  
The castles of Switzerland were buildings known to me. I’d visited at least half of them and had several books listing them all. I knew what they looked like, and they were all buildings of a certain appearance, made to repel invaders.  
  
The one I could see went completely against the architectural styles of those in Switzerland. It was clearly designed in a way that placed looks before functionality, as it was full of thin spires and looked rather like a fantasy castle, meant to be pretty above all else. It reminded me of lace— intricate and delicate.  
  
No such building existed in Switzerland or I would have visited it, obsessed with history as I was. I knew less about castles in France, but enough to believe that country didn’t boast such a palace, either.  
  
Could I be in Germany, perhaps? They weren’t famous for their vineyards, but I was sure they had some, so I might be in an area where they were cultivated.  
  
After one last glance, I closed the window.  
  
No matter how strange the situation, I knew that this was not my bedroom, amnesia or not. Even if I’d moved out and gone to live somewhere else, I had always been a slob. My room was never tidy, though other rooms in my home tended to be clean and nice so that I could invite guests without being ashamed. My bedroom was the one place I never tidied, and the floor tended to be covered in so many papers, books and clothes that walking across the room was near impossible. Even when it came to hotel rooms, mine was always cluttered.  
  
So this room I was in was clearly not mine. Even with a suspicious memory gap, I **knew** that.  
  
It was enough to have me strongly suspect a kidnapping even though I was not tied up. The fact that the window led to a drop down a cliff further convinced me I was imprisoned.  
  
The only thing left for me to do to verify my hypothesis was to see if the door to the room was locked.  
  
Before I could do so, the door opened as two men came in my room.  
  
My nose wrinkled at the invasion of privacy, but the fact that they hadn’t even knocked told of a lack of respect that only further convinced me I had been kidnapped.  
  
But what truly puzzled me was the way the men dressed. They wore gambesons and helmets, and they had swords strapped to their hips like they were cosplaying characters from Lord of the Rings or Game of Thrones. The medieval clothing even looked realistic, with the appropriate wear and tear it should have.  
  
“Syanna, I have news,” said one of the men in French, which increased the likelihood that I was in a francophone region. “The Cintrian sent a message—”  
  
“My name’s Réna,” I interrupted.  
  
Truthfully, my name was Séréna, but due to one of my close friends having the exact same name, I’d gotten into the habit of being called Réna so it would be easier to distinguish us in conversation.  
  
I had a dozen questions on the tip of my tongue, and the first one was why they were wearing knight costumes. The sight of those costumes was rather reassuring, as it seemed unlikely that kidnappers would have cause to dress in such a way. That and the fact that they called me Syanna had me hoping this was all a case of mistaken identity and that I had not been abducted. It would be embarrassing for me to find out I’d panicked over nothing, but I’d rather be embarrassed and safe than the opposite.  
  
The man who had spoken seemed confused, before his eyes widened in comprehension.  
  
“Ah yes, you’re Rhena,” he said with a smile, “the woman we abducted.” And then he winked, as if we were both in on some sort of funny joke.  
  
I blinked, feeling a little faint.  
  
“You… kidnapped me?” I asked incredulously.  
  
It didn’t make any sense. My father was retired, so he didn’t earn as much anymore, and while anyone looking at his salary from a few years ago would think he was a millionaire, he hadn’t hoarded the money. He had seven children, with me being the third one, and had invested his salary into our education and into a house large enough to house us all, before we’d moved out.  
  
Whatever ransom these men were hoping for was one my father wouldn’t be able to pay, nor would anyone else in my family.  
  
The two men exchanged a look, surprised that their hostage wasn’t reacting with absolute joy at the news of her abduction.  
  
“Well,” said the other man, “just until your lover finishes killing the people we tell him to.”  
  
I wasn’t sure what expression my face was making, but it wasn’t a positive one.  
  
First: Lover, _really_ ? Who used such a cringy, romance-novel term? In French, lover was _amant_ , and it was a term mostly used to refer to the person one slept with while cheating on someone else. Not exactly a glorious term, especially coming from the lips of my captors. As such, I had boyfriends, _not_ lovers.  
  
And second, I’d broken up with my boyfriend five months ago and had been single since then. Not only did I not have a boyfriend, but even if I did, none of the guys (and the few rare girls) I had dated were anywhere near hitman material.  
  
And anyway, kidnapping someone to force their significant other to commit murder was completely ridiculous! Who did that?!  
  
These two men with their weird costumes were clearly insane and I wanted out, _immediately_ .  
  
“I don’t know who you are,” I told the two, “but I want you to release me, now.”  
  
It probably wasn’t smart to order my kidnappers around like that, but in my defence, the men looked like insane idiots who hadn’t bothered to tie up their hostage or ask for a ransom. The only thing I felt in danger from was their stupidity.  
  
The two men glanced at one another, puzzled.  
  
“I thought Syanna said that Curse of the Black Sun was complete bogus?” whispered one of them.  
  
The other one shook his head. “Maybe it just had a delayed effects, and it was real after all?”  
  
I had this strong urge to correct them on my name, or to remind them that I was still here and shouldn’t be talked about as if that was not the case, but I pushed down the urge in favour of something more important. Escaping.  
  
Heart thundering, I ran for the door, slipping past the two men as fast as I could. Unfortunately, I’d been far enough for them to have had the time to react, so as I tried to leave the room, one of the men had already grabbed my arm and pulled me back.  
  
“Hey, where’re ya goin—” said the man.  
  
I struggled as hard as I could, but I’d never taken a self-defence class in my life and was significantly weaker than him due to our difference in size and gender, so he reeled me in easily.  
  
_“Lâchez-moi!”_ I exclaimed.  
  
But he didn’t let me go. Instead, his grip tightened.  
  
I tried to pull away, but I just didn’t have the necessary strength.  
  
“She looks like she doesn’t know how to fight,” said the other man, surprised. “Maybe she was wrong about the curse, and it finally made her lose her senses.”  
  
“No,” said the man who was holding me, his tone firm. “She’s perfectly fine. She must’ve drunk too much wine yesterday.” He didn’t look like he believed his own words.  
  
As for me, hearing that confirmed not only that I had some form of amnesia, as I didn’t remember drinking anything, but it also told me something else. He had said I had drunk wine, which confirmed he did not know me in the slightest and that he was lying. I did not drink alcohol, at all. I had never gotten drunk, and never tried more than a sip of wine or beer out of curiosity, only to immediately wash my mouth and decide to never try again. I hated the taste, and did not particularly seek the effects of alcohol.  
  
So the man was lying. Why?  
  
Hm. Perhaps he wanted to chalk up my amnesia to drinking so I did not suspect my missing memories were due to my captors drugging me with unknown substances? But that made no sense.  
  
I tried to come up with more reasons for why he would be lying, but I had too little information to come up with any other guesses.  
  
“Let me go!” I repeated, tugging fruitlessly with all my might.  
  
The one holding me gave me a glance and then turned back to his companion, unphased by my protests. “We can’t let Sir Roderick see her in this state. We’ll have to delay and say she’s sick. Can you go downstairs and get some handcuffs?”  
  
“No need,” said the other with a lecherous smile, bringing out a pair of cuffs that had been hanging by his belt.  
  
The first man frowned disapprovingly. “You better not have been taking women from the nearest village. We can’t afford to have people investigating us because you can’t hide your victims.”  
  
I stiffened, the words registering. Was the man with the handcuffs some sort of serial rapist or killer of women?  
  
The blood was draining from my face as the gravity of the situation made itself known. I was uncomfortably aware that I was at the mercy of at least two strange men who could do anything they wanted to me, regardless of my protests.  
  
The _(rapist/killer)_ man holding the handcuffs rolled his eyes. “I took precautions.” He turned to me and I shivered. “And now, time to take care of you, Syanna. Don’t worry, we’ll have you fixed soon.”  
  
I was too scared to do anything as the two men cuffed one of my hands to the bed frame. The fear that one of them might touch me inappropriately, or might even go _further_ , had me frightened into compliance.  
  
Once I was tied to the bed, the first man, the one who had not hinted at doing unsavoury things to women, patted me on the head as if I were a dog.  
  
“We’ll see if we can find something that’ll help your memory, Syanna.”  
  
“My name is Réna,” I protested, much more weakly than the first time.  
  
I was scared.  
  
The man patted me on the head once more, smiling reassuringly. “We’ll have your mind fixed in no time.”  
  
My insides turned to ice as I wondered what ‘fixing my mind’ would entail. Were they going to brainwash me?  
  
“My brother’s a cop,” I told them, omitting the fact that he had only started last month. “If you don’t let me go, he’ll come after you.”  
  
The second man, the one I was already thinking of as the ‘rapist’, snorted. He looked at me as if I were a particularly dim-witted child. “You don’t have any brothers, Syanna.”  
  
I just… _stared_ . In confusion.  
  
Three brothers. Three sisters. That was how many siblings I had. So why would he say that? Did he still mistake me for this ‘Syanna’?  
  
Unless…  
  
My face went carefully blank.  
  
Did he kill my brothers?  
  
I said nothing as the men left, terrified by the implication of their words. I still said nothing when I heard them lock the door and walk away, talking between themselves about what they would say to a certain Sir Roderick.  
  
Once I was sure they were far enough, my gaze flicked down to my right hand, cuffed to the bed.  
  
My eyes narrowed.  
  
Slowly, an escape plan formed in my mind.

-x-x-x-

The bedframe I was tied to was made of thick, solid wood. It wasn't the cheap stuff you could get at Ikea. Pulling the cuff only made the bed groan, which wasn't what I was hoping for.

The next thing I tried was lying down on the floor, my legs bent and my feet braced on the wood, with my cuffed hand in the middle and my left hand holding the chain that connected the two cuffs. Then, I began uncurling my legs, my left hand holding tightly the chain to prevent the circulation in my right wrist from being cut off.

My right hand held onto the left one as I pushed, my legs straining. The wood made a louder groaning sound, the kind you heard when walking in an old house with floorboards that creaked.

Unfortunately, that attempt was just as useless as the first, though I could see my efforts had left marks on the wood. It had not broken, but it _had_ been deformed.

My lips pursed and I analysed my surroundings. On the little bedside table was a candle-holder with a long, white candle wedged on it. And if there was a candle, would that mean there were matches nearby?

I moved towards the bedside table, and luckily I had enough slack to be able to do so. I opened the little drawer, but there were no matches to be found. Only a quartz stone and a piece of steel, of all things.

Slamming the drawer shut in disgust, my gaze when back to the candle-holder and a memory of those I had at home surged up in my mind. Hmmmm… I was quite sure that...

I picked it up and took off the candle, which confirmed my suspicions. Like the ones I had at my place, this candle holder had a spike jutting out, meant for you to pierce the candle on so the candle would stay in place and not topple over.

That spike wasn't as good as a box of matches, but it was a start.

I moved back to the part of the bed I was cuffed to, candle-holder in hand, and started attacking the wood with the metal spike. It was dull, tedious work, as I couldn't use too much strength or the noise would be too loud. I poked several holes into the wood, drawing a thin line that I hoped would be large enough to slide the cuff through once it was done.

The line got deeper and deeper, but I realized as I worked that my spike was too short and the wood I was burrowing through was too thick, so I had to widen the slash I was making to be able to dig through the width of the bedframe.

I could not tell you how many times I heard a noise and panicked, thinking someone was about to come in and discover what I was doing. Every time I'd hide the candle-holder under the bed and sit on the floor, hiding the damaged bedframe with my back. Then I'd wait as whoever made the noise just walked past my room, my heart thundering so loud I was convinced it would give me away. But each time, it was just a false alarm.

Finally, after what felt like a day of work but was probably just one hour of frantic stabbing with a candle-holder, I was done.

A large oval-shaped hole had been made through the entire width of the bedframe's side-rail, and it was just big enough for me to slide the cuff of the wood. I was free, even though the second cuff was still firmly attached to my rest. I figured that as long as I could escape and alert the police (and frantically ask if my brothers were okay because _I think my kidnappers killed them)_ , the cops would find someone to cut through the cuff.

Anyway, now that I was no longer tied to the bed, it was time to figure out how to escape this place.

The door was locked, but I was sure I could break it down. I'd seen people kicking doors off their hinges all the time in movies, so it shouldn't be too difficult, right?

But my risk-averse side argued that even if I broke the door down without making enough noise to alert anyone nearby, I'd still have to make my way down the tower without being seen by anyone and then leave the building. There was too much room for error, and I didn't fancy being caught. Who knew how violent my captors could become if they caught me trying to run?

My eyes went to the window. Could I...?

I walked over to it and looked outside.

The tower I was in was rather tall, and although I was an ardent climber in my free time and often went with my friends to a climbing centre near my home, I wasn't quite confident enough in my abilities to climb down a brick wall without using a belay rope or at least having some climbing holds to rely on.

But just because I didn't have any rope didn't mean I couldn't make any. I'd seen it done in fiction often enough, so why not try making a rope out of the bed covers?

I went over to the bed and stripped the mattress. There were no duvets, just a quilt and a thin cover on top that I assumed was meant to protect the bed from dust.

The candle-holder was put to use again as I ripped the duvet with it to make several long strips about as wide as one of my fingers was long. I did the same with the cover and the sheet that had been protecting the mattress. And when I assessed what I was left with and realized that I'd need to make my rope dangerously thin to weave something long enough to reach the ground, I went hunting for more material.

Luckily, my captors had been kind enough to give me a room with a large wardrobe filled to the brim with women's clothes I could guess were either meant for me or had been left behind by the last person to use the room.

All of the clothes were distinctively old-fashioned and I did not mean in the 'this was popular a decade ago and would have me laughed at if I wore it today'. I meant old-fashioned as in, it looked like costumes meant for people who wanted to dress up like they'd come straight out of the Middle Ages. First my kidnappers had shown up in gambesons, and now this. I was starting to notice a theme. A baffling theme, yes, but still something worth taking note of in case it became useful.

The only thing that was out of place were the clearly woman-sized trousers in the wardrobe. I wasn't an expert, but I was pretty sure women only started wearing trousers after feminism made it okay, so my captors must have decided anachronism could be allowed for my sake.

There was also a disturbing amount of leather in the wardrobe, but since none of the clothes were overly sexual to my sensibilities, I wasn't too bothered.

I changed out of my nightwear, marveling at the difference in body fitness which I would investigate thoroughly once I was safe, and dressed in appropriate clothes for trekking through the hills I could see from my window. Most of the shoes available had heels, which was extremely impractical for an escape, but I managed to find one pair of shoes with flat soles and slipped them on.

Next I emptied the wardrobe and used the candle-holder once more to rip everything into strips of fabric. I worked briskly, knowing that at any time someone could come in and see what I was doing.

Once I had all I needed, I began weaving the lengths of fabric into a long rope, adding more strips as soon as the ones I was using reached the end of their length. Years of practice had been braiding very fast, not even needing to look at what I did as my fingers moved deftly.

While I made the rope, my eyes were scanning the room, searching for a place to tie the rope to which would be able to bear my weight. The conclusion I drew was that only the bed could hope to hold me, and even then I wasn't sure it would work.

As soon as I was finished with the rope, I tied it to the bed, although nowhere near the hole I had made to escape the cuffs, in case that had weakened the wood. I then placed the bedside table on top of the bed, hoping that the added weight would make the bed heavy enough to carry me.

I grabbed the rope and pulled it under my left thigh, then in front of my hips and over my right shoulder, leaving the long length that remained to fall down my back and pool down onto the floor.

It was a classic rappelling position used when you didn't have a carabiner to tie a Munter hitch knot for sliding down a climbing wall, and it would save my life if I lost my grip on the makeshift rope.

I opened the window and looked out. Beneath me was a long drop, and then a beautiful garden full of various flowers and a nice fountain. Beyond that garden was the cliff-face, a drop leading straight down to a lake. If I wanted to escape, either I'd jump off that cliff, or I'd have to find a way to scale the massive wall that surrounded the estate of my captors and stopped on either side of where the cliff started.

Truthfully, I had no idea what I would do, but I hoped that by the time I reached the ground I would have thought of something.

Anyway, I was just happy there weren't any people nearby except one gardener with his back to me, and if I went fast then he wouldn't even notice me.

I grabbed hold of the pile of rope on the floor and threw it out of the window. Then, with one hand on the part of the rope just before it went behind my thigh, and the other hand on the rope falling down the length of my back, I climbed out of the window.

Turning so that I was facing the wall, I began sliding down.

My hold on the rope was lax, but the friction was the rope rubbed against my leg slowed me so that I was descending at a fast pace instead of merely falling.

I had to readjust from time to time, since the rope was not the sleeker kind I was used to, but I managed.

Unfortunately, the rope ran out before I reached the ground, and I looked down with dismay.

If I jumped from this height, I might sprain something.

_You can do it,_ I told myself. _The worst that happens is you break your leg. Come on, you can do it! You won't die if you fall from this height, so it'll be fine!_

I unwound the rope tied around my body and slid down the length that remained until I was gripping the end of the rope.

Then, knowing I couldn't afford to dally, I let go.

I had never learned how to fall properly, so what happened next was not particularly graceful.

Body rigid with fear, I managed to land on my feet, but my momentum had my knees bending under my own weight. I fell to the ground, my ankle twisting in a way that sent a jolt of pain through my body, and ended up with a mouthful of grass.

I wanted to lay there a few seconds and recuperate, but I knew I couldn't afford to. So I rose, wincing as I realized that I had definitely sprained my ankle.

Deciding I'd head for the cliff and see if I could survive jumping off it if I aimed for the body of water at the bottom, I turned around and met the startled gaze of the gardener.  
  
Oh no.

I laughed awkwardly. "Don't mind me. I'm just passing through."

Pretending the situation was completely normal, I hobbled past the baffled man and headed towards the cliff-face.

For three blissful seconds, I thought I'd gotten away with it.

  
"GUARDS!"

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Or not.

With a curse, I started running.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (They say that somewhere in the world is someone that looks exactly like you. Well, for Réna, that person is in another dimension entirely, as she discovers when she wakes up in the body of Syanna, sister of the duchess of Toussaint.)


	2. Chapter 2

After that escape attempt, things grew harsher for me.  
  
I was put back into the bedroom but instead of being cuffed to the bed, I was made to sit in a chair. Both my hands were cuffed behind my back, with the chain of the handcuffs winding its way through the back of the chair to make it impossible for me to leave.  
  
But that wasn’t all. My guards had clearly learnt their lesson, and had also used rope to tie my upper body to the back of the chair. Then they had tied each of my calves to the chair’s legs, and gagged me.  
  
The only parts of my body I could move were my hips and my head. It did not exactly give me many opportunities for escape.  
  
It also seemed that my behaviour had been outrageous enough for the grunts to call in the big boss.  
  
A man came into my room about half an hour after my escape attempt.  
  
 _I can’t believe I’m thinking of it as ‘my’ room. More like, it’s my prison cell…_  
  
Like everyone else I had seen so far, this man was dressed like he came straight out of the Middle Ages. But instead of looking like a knight, he seemed more like a noble, with clothing that, although beautiful, seemed a little tattered.  
  
“Syanna,” he said to me, voice sickly-sweet with concern, “what’s this about trying to leave? My men have told me you’ve been a little...” He hesitated. “...a little muddled, lately.”  
  
I just glared at him, unable to respond.  
  
He realized at that moment that I was still gagged, so he came closer to free my mouth.  
  
As soon as I could speak, I spat out, “Abducting people is a crime. Let me go and I won’t prosecute.”  
  
Initially I had wanted to repeat the claims that my brother was a policeman and would come arrest them all for daring to do this to me, but when I had mentioned my brother earlier, before my escape through the window, the response had made it clear that these people had done something to my family. I didn’t want to bring up my any of my siblings again, afraid of hearing something worse.  
  
The man in front of me seemed a little puzzled about my behaviour, as if he couldn’t understand why I wasn’t going along with him. It made me want to claw his face off. _Violently_ .  
  
“Syanna—”  
  
“Réna,” I corrected, unwilling to go along with his delusions.  
  
I knew my behaviour was not smart. I should be going along with him and obeying him to increase my chances of survival. If I had been witnessing this from an outsider’s perspective, I would be screaming at the abductee to be meek and obedient in order to live longer. But now that I was the one in this situation, my disgust and hatred of these people was too high for me to play along. They had admitted to killing my brothers! I didn’t dare imagine what they’d done to my sisters. And what about my parents? Were they all right?!  
  
My abductor pursed his lips, but gave in. “Rhena, darling,”—My skin crawled.—“don’t do this now. We’re so close to victory. We only need to kill Her Grace and we will be able to ascend to the throne...”  
  
My eyes widened. With a sudden burst of clarity, I knew what was going on.  
  
It wasn’t a widely known fact among my friends, but my father’s side of the family was related to the royal family of Denmark. Sometimes I would tell people for the sake of impressing them, but truthfully, I was only a direct descendent of a king from a few generations back, nothing that important. I was too distantly related to the current monarch for it to have any effect on my everyday life. My lineage was just an interesting facet of my life and nothing more.  
  
I still remembered when I had told my best friend, and she had jokingly asked me if I would reward her if she killed all the other claimants to the throne so I could be crowned. I’d laughed and told her I’d allow her to live in the royal palace and be my concubine. We’d both found that very amusing and had then switched the conversation to more interesting things.  
  
Right now, that innocent conversation came back to haunt me after I heard my abductor mention ‘killing her Grace’.  
  
Had these crazy people been murdering members of the royal family?!  
  
The mere thought made me sick, but it seemed like the most logical conclusion. It would also explain why everyone was dressed like they came out of the Middle Ages. Maybe the man in front of me was obsessed with kings and queens and, due to a lack of royal blood, had decided to set up his own puppet queen on the throne?  
  
I also hadn’t missed how he had said ‘ _we_ will be able to ascend to the throne’, implying he wasn’t content with just a puppet monarch, but also wanted a title of his own. And marrying a queen would be a good way to acquire such a title.  
  
My face went green. I dearly hoped I was wrong.  
  
After all, such a plot was something out of a movie! If several claimants to the throne were suddenly killed off, the police would surely suspect the one who became king or queen to have something to do with it. My abductor couldn’t hope to avoid the consequences of such blatant killings!  
  
But it didn’t matter how badly-made his scheme was and how low the chances for success were. It did not change the fact that I was tied to a chair, in the grasp of a murderer!  
  
“You’re insane,” I hissed, knowing I shouldn’t provoke him but unable to refrain from hiding my hatred of someone who aimed to kill Queen Margrethe.  
  
The man sighed, shaking his head as he looked at me. “No, my dear, it seems you are the insane one. I’d taken your claims for granted that the Curse of the Black Sun was nothing but poppycock… But don’t worry, even with you in such a state, I’ll carry out your revenge for you, as promised, and once we’re married I’ll ensure you’re taken care of properly.”  
  
I turned chalk-white, feeling vomit at the back of my throat.  
  
The man didn’t seem to care what I thought, and had me gagged again. He headed towards the door and turned to me just before leaving.  
  
“I placed guards in the garden beneath your window this time,” he told me, “and some of my men will be just outside this door. If you try to leave again without giving me what you promised, then next time I’ll break your legs to prevent you from escaping.” He smiled, ignoring my horrified expression. “Have a good day, my dear.”  
  
He shut the door, leaving me alone in the room.  
  
I’m not ashamed to admit that at such a point, I began to cry.  
  
  
  


-X-X-X-

The rest of the day passed slowly.

My escape attempt had been done early in the morning, as well as my talk with my unnamed abductor. That meant that I spent the following hours tied to a chair, unable to move. A servant came in regularly to bring food and would feed me himself instead of freeing my hands so I could do it myself. Furthermore, I was not allowed to go to the toilet. Apparently the risk that I would escape was too high, so they left me tied up the whole day.  
  
I was used to not being able to pee often in my day to day life and could get by with only two or three toilet breaks a day, but even I had limits.  
  
After a while, I couldn’t hold it in anymore and wet myself.  
  
It was thoroughly humiliating, but the servant who took care of me just dumped several buckets of lukewarm water on me to erase the smell and cleaned the floor.  
  
I wasn’t anxious to see what would happen if I needed to do something other than peeing. Cleaning that would be a nightmare. I also dearly hoped I wouldn’t be having my period anytime soon. Mine tended to be bloodier than most, and I really didn’t want to see the reaction of my abductors if they had to clean that sort of thing. Or maybe they would take pity and undo my bindings so I could go to the loo, giving me an opportunity to escape again?  
  
… But then again, if I was caught, _that man_ would break my legs.  
  
I had never broken a bone in my entire life, and I did not want to change that now.  
  
That evening, my abductor came back and tried to convince me to ‘return to normal’. I knew the smart choice was to be obedient, but the entire situation had me in an abnormal state. Usually I was the kind of person who thought with their brain, not their heart. Logically, I would have behaved in a way that would benefit me, but the mere idea of playing along with those responsible for killing my brothers and a portion of the Danish royal family disgusted me. I preferred making things as hard for them as possible by resisting at every turn, than increasing my survival rate by giving those criminals my cooperation.  
  
I never thought I would turn into this kind of brainless, stubborn person, but the mere idea of giving in to the murderers of my brothers had me gnashing my teeth.  
  
The next day was much of the same, except I couldn’t prevent soiling myself. The servant dealt with it in a fashion much more humiliating than when I peed, and I could feel my dignity withering with every passing moment.  
  
The unnamed abductor came back to once more convince me to return to sanity and help him with his crimes, but I once more refused. When he left, his expression had me terrified.  
  
The following days passed in the same way. At first I had trouble sleeping while tied to a chair, but after a while the exhaustion grew to be too much. My hair became very greasy after a few days passed, but beyond having a bucket of water poured over me whenever the smell of my body became too strong, I wasn’t allowed to wash.  
  
As time passed my hopes for the authorities to come save me grew smaller and smaller, until it became evident that my situation was hopeless.  
  
It was only on the eighth night of my imprisonment that things changed...

-x-x-x-

By the time my rescue arrived, several things had changed.  
  
Firstly, I was blindfolded on top of being gagged, as after I had tried to use my eyes to beseech servants to help me, it had been decided it was best to cut off any chance of me acquiring aid.  
  
Secondly, due to me constantly being in wet clothing, I had several rashes on my skin. Whenever I had to pee, I was not allowed to head to the loo, and the only kindness I received was a bucket of water emptied on top of my head after every time I emptied my bladder. My clothes never had the time to dry before they were drenched again, a few hours later.  
  
Thirdly, my cheeks had become quite gaunt. The reason being that most of the food I was given was not anything I wanted to eat, as I was vegetarian and had been one for several years. My abductors seemed to think I was playing an elaborate joke on them whenever I explained that I did not eat meat because it contributed the global warming and was not ethical. Usually they would try to force-feed me, resulting in me vomiting because the mere thought of meat in my mouth made me sick. After a few days of that, I learned to live with constant hunger pangs, trying to make myself feel better by thinking that in a way, I was losing weight, which had always been a goal of mine, though not to this extent.  
  
So by the time I was rescued, I was in a pretty pitiful state.  
  
It happened in the middle of the night. Despite being blindfolded, I could still tell night from day due to a change in temperature and sound levels, so that was how I knew what time of the day it was.  
  
I had been hearing many distant shouts and yells for a while now, muffled through the closed window of the room. Those sounds had then suspiciously died down not even two minutes ago, leaving me anxious and wondering what was going on. Of course, I hoped it was someone coming to rescue me, but since I didn’t hear any screams of “This is the police! Put your weapons down and hands in the air!”, I dared not be too optimistic.  
  
When I heard footsteps just outside, I tensed.  
  
There came the sounds of the door being slammed open, and someone cried out my name:  
  
“Rhena!”  
  
The fact that I was being called ‘Réna’ instead of ‘Syanna’, and the tone of obvious relief, told me I had been saved. I did not recognize the voice of whoever was calling my name with such familiarity, but then again that was a secondary concern. Right now, I only cared about escaping my bindings.  
  
I expected someone to say reassuring words and maybe ask the traumatized victim for permission to touch her for the sake of freeing her from her bindings, or maybe a ruder person would have gone straight to cutting the rope around my body with no warning. None of that happened.  
  
Instead, I felt two large arms engulf me in a hug, the person’s size and scent clearly indicating it was a man.  
  
I could not help my reaction: I shrieked.  
  
Sorry, but it came out instinctively. I had been caged and on guard for so long that this unexpected hug had me jumping back.  
  
The chair over-balanced and was about to fall backwards when that same man who had hugged me caught the chair and settled me properly.  
  
Another voice spoke up: “Perhaps you might want to free her before instigating your tender reunion?”  
  
What tender reunion? The man nearly startled me to death!  
  
Someone was kind enough to take my blindfold off, and I was finally able to see again. My sight was blurry after being blocked so long, so I spent a few moments blinking and staring uselessly until my vision was clear, while one of my rescuers took out my gag.  
  
My rescuers consisted of three people. Two of them were dressed in medieval clothing like my abductors had been, with one looking like a knight while the other one was… a moderately wealthy peasant?

The knight had a big scar on his face, and his hair was entirely white despite him not looking a day over forty. He was also the most attractive of the group.

As for the other one, he had a receding hairline and facial hair that I think was called ‘mutton chops’, unless I had the term wrong.  
  
The third person was the only one dressed in somewhat modern clothing, albeit a slightly more gothic style than I was used to. He had long black hair that reached his shoulders and had the kind of face that looked like it had spent too long frowning instead of smiling. He was also the one who had hugged me. Currently, he was leaning down, about to undo my bindings.  
  
At first I found it strange that two of my rescuers would be in costumes like my abductors had been, before realizing that they had probably dressed like that to infiltrate this place in order to rescue me. Mystery solved, I focused on the next question I had:  
  
“Who are you people?”  
  
I blinked, my sight still adjusting after being blind for a week. One of my eyes could see everything clearly while the other was still seeing coloured blurs. I blinked again.  
  
The man dressed in black who had been about to unbind me stopped, looking up at me. There was a hint of confusion on his face. He seemed like a naturally stoic man, because his expressions were a bit hard to read.  
  
“Rhena…?” he asked. “It’s me, Dettlaff. I’ve come to rescue you. I’m sorry it took me so long.” He gazed at me and I fidgeted, uncomfortable with the depth of emotion in his gaze. “I’m here now.”  
  
I felt it was best to clarify matter before too much time passed. I knew I had some form of amnesia, as it was the only thing that could explain why my body had old scars I had never seen, and why my body was toned in a way that could only be achieved with at least six months spent working out three hours a week. Clearly my rescuers were familiar with me, but I was not familiar with them, so they must have been people I had met and befriended during that length of time my amnesia had taken from my memories.  
  
“Um,” I began, “I’m sorry, but... the people who took me, I think they gave me something which made me forget things.” Their expressions were changing as my words sunk in. The man in black, Dettlaff, frowned. “They wanted me compliant and they’ve been trying to convince me to go along with this scheme of theirs. They’ve been insisting on calling me Syanna and stuff… They want me as a puppet-ruler once they’ve killed off enough people. I’m pretty sure whatever drug they gave me should have made me a lot more easy to mould, and they’ve been frustrated it hasn’t been working.” I bit my lip and gathered my courage for the next part: “I’m sorry, but I don’t recognize any of you.”  
  
Dettlaff looked devastated, while the other two men seemed much less affected, standing a bit further away. With the way Dettlaff was acting and the fact that he’d risked his life to rescue me without any cops backing him up, I was pretty sure we had been close, but I could not for the life of me remember who he was.  
  
“I’m sorry,” I repeated, feeling like utter scum.  
  
Dettlaff shook his head and put a hand on my cheek reassuringly. He had very long nails for a man. “No, it’s not your fault,” he said. His face did not reveal much, but the hitch in his voice told me he was not taking this well. He continued talking: “I made them pay for what they did to you, Rhena. Don’t worry, we’ll find a way to fix this.”  
  
I smiled tremulously. “Thanks for rescuing me.”  
  
He nodded, as if it were a matter of course, and bent down to untie me. I expected him to either undo the knots or take out a knife to just cut through the rope, but instead… instead…  
  
Sorry, but I had a little trouble believing what he was doing.  
  
Somehow, Dettlaff’s nails grew until they were each as long as his forearms and they sliced through the rope around my left leg as if it were butter. He then did the same to my other leg, and it was only as he was about to cut the rope around my chest and abdomen that I finally found my voice again:  
  
“What… How did you make your nails grow like that?” I asked, dumbfounded.  
  
There was also a small and petty part of me that wished I could grow my nails on command, too, but it was overwhelmed by the sheer bafflement over how Dettlaff had managed to do it in the first place.  
  
Dettlaff paused, frowning, but it was one of the two men in the back who answered me, the one dressed like a wealthy medieval peasant:  
  
“Right...” he said in realisation, “if they made you forget things, then you might have forgotten this...” He looked at me. “You might not remember, but you and Dettlaff were quite close. You were one of the rare humans to know he is a vampire.”  
  
I blinked.  
  
Then I blinked again.  
  
“A vampire? But they don’t exist.”  
  
There came a small exhale from the man with the peasant garb, an aborted chuckle. “Contrary to popular belief, vampires are very real.”  
  
I was blinking rapidly, my brain completely stumped. Meanwhile, Dettlaff and finished with the ropes and was attacking the metal handcuffs with his blade-like nails. It took a little more force, but those nails managed to shatter the chain between the handcuffs easily.  
  
Okay… So… I had been rescued by a vampire…?  
  
Even in my head that sounded crazy.  
  
In my teenage years, I’d had a vampire phase. Twilight, True Blood, Vampire Academy, The Vampire Diaries, you name it. I had been introduced to the genre by Twilight, which had kick-started the vampire craze, and I still remember how romantic I found it that a dangerous, blood-thirsty vampire was willing to overcome his urges for the sake of the person he loved. There was something about that which had deeply appealed to my teenage self, who had never had a boyfriend, let alone one willing to devote himself to such a point. At the time, I had wanted vampires to be real and had wanted one as my boyfriend.  
  
But then, years had passed and I had matured. I had started looking at Twilight more critically and had realized that a lot of the behaviour in the story wasn’t exactly good or romantic, but veered closer to stalking.  
  
My love for the vampire genre had diminished and I’d started paying attention to other things.  
  
Except… it appeared that during those months or years that had been scrubbed from my memory, I had somehow managed to meet a real vampire and, if what I suspected was true, _date_ him.  
  
The way the other man had said ‘tender reunion’ and the way Dettlaff was behaving, it was very…  
  
Erm. Well.  
  
So on top of kidnapping, there was also the fact that vampires were real. I did not even doubt it for a second, because magically growing nails was really, really weird.  
  
I had wished many times for my life to be as eventful as the protagonist of a fictional story, and yet now that it was happening, I wanted things to be normal again.  
  
… Though, vampires being real was kind of cool.  
  
I rubbed by wrists, grateful for my freedom, and deliberately swayed my upper body a little to test if being immobilized for a week had led to muscle atrophy or cramps. I was a bit uncomfortable, but I did not think it was enough to prevent me from walking.  
  
Using a hand to brace myself, I pushed off the chair and wobbled a little, my legs weak. Dettlaff was kind enough to hold my elbow to help me, respectfully not touching any other areas of my body.  
  
“Vampires are real…” I repeated, still a little bit empty-headed at the thought. I looked at the two other men in the room. “And what about you two? Are you vampires too?” I then realized I had not even bothered asking for their names, and added: “Sorry. What… What are you two called?”  
  
The man with the mutton chops answered me: “I am Regis. Like Dettlaff, I am a vampire.” He gestured at the white-haired man dressed like a knight. “My companion here is Geralt of Rivia, and he was instrumental in finding your whereabouts.”  
  
I looked at Geralt, my eyes much more appreciative than before. “Thank you.” My eyes teared up a little; I was so happy I’d been rescued that I couldn’t help it. “Thank you so much.”  
  
I could not find any other words to show my gratitude. ‘Thank you’ seemed like such a meaningless repayment for the man who was rescuing me from this hell.  
  
Geralt looked away, shifting a bit in place. “You’re welcome,” he said gruffly.  
  
“There is one thing that puzzles me,” said Regis, looking thoughtfully around the room. “What of Syanna? There hasn’t been the slightest hint of her.”  
  
The familiar name had me perking up. “That man holding me here… Rodrick? Roderick?” I frowned, unsure. “Well, he’s been trying to force me into believing my name is Syanna, not Rhena. I don’t quite understand everything, but I think that whatever he did to make me forget some of my memories was done so I could go along with what he said. He was really angry when I refused to answer to the name ‘Syanna’...”  
  
Regis brought his hand up to his chin, thinking. “And you said he wanted to set you up as a puppet ruler… Could it be that Roderick was the one behind this all along, and not Syanna? But if he wanted to pass you off as the long lost Syanna to make you inherit the duchy, why kill those knights instead of the duchess herself? It seems a rather wasteful way to go about things...”  
  
Duchy? Knights? Duchess?  
  
I frowned and opened my mouth to ask for some clarification, but I was distracted as Geralt spoke up:  
  
“I asked Roderick where she was, and he told me Syanna is being kept in this tower.” He paused. “In this very room.”  
  
Both Geralt and Regis turned to look at me.  
  
“Either he’s delusional enough to believe she truly is Silvia-Anna,” continued Geralt, “or he’s a better liar than I thought. Syanna might have never existed at all. Only Roderick and a girl unlucky enough to look like Syanna.”  
  
I swallowed. “He… He talked about me marrying him. If I’m his puppet-ruler and he marries me, then he’d get a title too...” I still had a frown on my face, because certain things were not adding up with what I thought my situation was, such as the words ‘duchess’ and the importance of ‘Syanna’. I had thought this was about my lineage, but apparently it was because I looked like someone else?  
  
My head hurt with all this speculation. I resolved that I would just give as much information as possible to my rescuers so they knew all they needed to know about the situation, and as soon as I was somewhere safe and away from here, I would question them thoroughly about what was going on. Right now, I was still reeling from the ‘vampires are real’ bombshell and was not in the mood to begin pelting these people with questions.  
  
Geralt nodded at my words. “That would make sense. If he passes you off as Syanna and kills Anarietta, he can have you inherit and marry you to access that power.”  
  
 _Who is Anarietta?_ I wondered, frustrated. _I thought this was about Queen Margethe?_  
  
“But then why kill those knights? Why Palmerin, de Peyrac-Peyran, de la Croix?” asked Regis.  
  
That last name made Dettlaff shudder. If he had not been holding my arm, I wouldn’t have noticed. As it was, I felt the minute tremble of his arms when Regis spoke those last few words.  
  
Regis’ question had Geralt furrowing his brows. “I can understand stealing the Sangreal and the jewel. It’s something Syanna would have done, so Roderick had them stolen to convince us Syanna was behind all this. But the knights?” Geralt paused. “Maybe they weren’t connected to Syanna. Maybe they were just in Roderick’s way, and since he was already using Rhena as a stand-in, he thought he could also use her to make Dettlaff do his bidding.”  
  
The conversation was clearly making Dettlaff uncomfortable, and I really wanted to escape this place immediately, so I cut off their conversation.  
  
“Could we leave? I haven’t been outside in a really long time and staying here makes me uncomfortable.”  
  
Regis straightened guiltily. “Ah, yes, my mistake. We can ponder on such things later, once we’re far from this place.” He opened wide the door leading out of the room and made a beckoning gesture. “Ladies first.”  
  
I smiled gratefully and wobbled towards the door, Dettlaff helping me support my weak legs.  
  
I discovered that outside the door were carpeted stairs leading down to a small room with a fireplace and a few comfy chairs. Some sort of small study?  
  
Anyway, since I’d been held at the top of a tower, we continued downwards. Just outside the door of the small study was the first shocking sight—the corpse of a man, one of the guards working for my abductors. I could see a trail of blood extending from his chest.  
  
My rescuers had probably been forced to kill this man because he’d fought too fiercely. I would admit that I felt a little bit guilty that a man had died so that I could escape, but the guilt was fleeting. After all, it was only one man, and in hostage situations, you couldn’t always expect everyone to come out unscathed, even the criminals. If it was between my life and the life of this dead man, the choice was easy to make and the guilt easy to ignore.  
  
Still, seeing a real corpse for the first time unsettled me.  
  
“Ugh,” I groaned, leaning away from the dead body.  
  
Dettlaff squeezed my arm lightly to comfort me and I gave him a smile.  
  
It was a little weird because the man was a complete stranger to me while he apparently knew me and treated me with a lot of care. This was all rather strange, but Dettlaff was being very respectful and understanding.  
  
I looked at Geralt and Regis curiously, wondering if I’d known them well or if they were here for Dettlaff’s sake.  
  
I wanted to find a way to start the conversation, something other than thanking them for the rescue once again, but the only ice-breaker I could think of was to compliment Geralt’s white hair, which looked really nice. But it was best to avoid mentioning it, because if it was natural and not him bleaching it, then he might be really sensitive about his hair having gone white when he wasn’t even that old.  
  
When we finally reached the ground floor, I was so eager to be outside and breathe in some fresh air that I rudely pulled at Dettlaff to make him go faster and pushed past Regis and Geralt. I slammed open the front door and took a step out into the courtyard…  
  
… only to be met with the scene of a wide-spread massacre.  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be out on the 7th.


	3. Chapter 3

There had to be dozens of mutilated corpses strewn around, forming a clear path to the building I had been held in. All the bodies were clad in the green knightly clothes of the men who were responsible for my abduction.   
  
I didn’t scream or shout. I just stared, feeling a mix of tiredness and incredulity.   
  
Was I misunderstanding something? My first impression was that my rescuers had committed a bloody massacre for the sake of entering the compound and finding me. I really hoped there was an explanation, because this was a bit beyond the limit of what I could tolerate…   
  
“Did you kill all these people?” I asked, voice cracking with nerves. The question was addressed at my three saviours, but I was looking at Dettlaff specifically, the one I felt most familiar with.   
  
Dettlaff clearly noticed my disapproval and hastened to reassure me: “These men had orders to kill. It was the only way they could be dealt with.”   
  
Really?! Did they take me for someone who was born yesterday? I was not that easy to lie to. Couldn’t they have brought tranquillizer guns, or whatever you call those things that shoot a substance which will put people to sleep? It was a much more humane way to deal with the situation. I could understand death was a possibility when fighting one’s way past criminals to rescue the abducted person, but a massacre of this size was not a case of justified force.   
  
“Listen...” I said, trying to find the right words. “I’m thankful that you saved me, but killing this many people will get attention from the authorities. You’re going to end up in jail because of this.” On one hand I wanted to scream that murder was wrong, but on the other, I had been desensitized to gore by a lifetime of TV series such as Hannibal, Bones, Dexter, etc. And the fact that the victims were the ones responsible for my imprisonment didn’t make me very sympathetic. Strangely enough, the other reaction I should be having, a sense of fear due to being near mass-murderers, did not come. Perhaps it was shock?   
  
Anyway, as thankful as I was, it did not change the fact that my rescuers had killed people and would probably be spending the rest of their lives in prison due to how many victims there were.   
  
“If you leave now,” I continued, looking earnestly at Dettlaff, “when someone comes to investigate, I’ll tell them I don’t know who killed these people, and hopefully the authorities won’t find out who did this. It’s not much, but at least it gives you a chance to avoid a prison cell.”   
  
Anyone hearing my words would think I’m being extremely generous, letting off a bunch of murderers because I was in their debt, but the truth was that if Dettlaff and Regis truly were vampires, which I was 90% convinced was the case, then the police would probably not be able to hold them. Especially considering vampires had to be strong and fearsome, judging by how large a trail of corpses they were capable of creating...   
  
“There’s no need to worry,” said Geralt. “We’re working with the ducal guards.”   
  
Regis nodded. “We have been coordinating with the duchess herself in this rescue mission.”   
  
Duchess? I was still a little confused over that one, but reasoned that it was possible Queen Margethe had been killed already by the people who had abducted me, and the closest living blood-relation was probably a duchess. That would explain why I’d been hearing ‘duchess’ and ‘ducal guards’.   
  
I wanted to ask some questions to find out if my hypothesis was correct, but now was not the time. The greater concern was the fact that this massacre had been state-sanctioned. I did not doubt my rescuers were telling the truth, as they had no reason to lie when I had been willing to cover for them and let them escape.   
  
Every country did horrible things and covered them up, I knew that, but I did not imagine this kind of situation… I could only hope that as soon as I caught up with events, there would be a rational explanation. There was no way that the Denmark I knew could be all right with such senseless violence. And besides, the royal family did not have that kind of power. They were basically figureheads, just like England’s queen.   
  
Though there was a third possibility: Maybe my three rescuers were all completely crazy and believed the cops were on their side?   
  
Anyway, no matter what, I figured it was best if I stayed obedient and didn’t anger these people in case it turned out that they truly were psychos who might turn on the person they rescued.   
  
Logically I knew I shouldn’t trust them despite what they’d done for me. Trusting mass-murderers was a bad idea. But emotionally, I couldn’t seem to feel all that afraid of them.   
  
“Right,” I said, trying not to sound too dubious of their claims of ‘working with the authorities’. “So where are they?”   
  
Geralt gestured to my left. “Over there.”   
  
Not expecting him to have been telling the truth, I turned to look at the cops.   
  
What I saw was… weird.   
  
There were a few dozen men coming closer, having just turned a corner and come into sight. But instead of the policemen I’d been expecting, or men in riot gear, what I saw… were men dressed in medieval armour, exactly like my kidnappers had been. However, their armour was more fancy and less threadbare, and the colours were different.   
  
I just… could not understand why the policemen would have dressed that way. I mean, when I saw Geralt and Regis dressed like they came from the Middle Ages, I just thought it had been done in order to blend in and infiltrate the place. But if they had several policemen with them, then infiltration wouldn’t have been needed. So why were these men all dressed like knights?   
  
And there was a woman among them, advancing towards us. She wore a long dress and her hair was all done up, curling around a heavy crown.   
  
At this point, I was beginning to suspect I was being made fun of. I started second-guessing everything, wondering if this was some sort of prank and my reaction was being filmed. Honestly, it was the only thing that made sense.   
  
But if there was one thing I didn’t like, it was embarrassment, so I didn’t say anything yet. I was too confused and the memory loss already had me doubting my own mind. This entire situation was not helping, so I decided to just shut up and wait until I had enough information to know what was happening. I did not want to start gaping and asking questions like an idiot, only to be informed there was a rational explanation for all of this, and geeze, Réna, you’re really dumb, you know? This is obvious, girl.   
  
In the past, I had often asked a question out of a genuine desire to know the answer, only to be mocked because the answer was common knowledge, or something I could have easily figured out, or something I had already been told but had forgotten. As a result, I always thought twice about my words before uttering them, not wanting others to judge me.   
  
The woman with the crown came closer, and I was able to take in her features. She was pretty, with clear skin, good bone structure and regal bearing. She had light brown hair with the upper half done in an updo while the rest hung down in soft, corkscrew curls that stopped around her shoulder-blades. The woman wore a crown, a large one that had nothing to do with the dainty tiaras or those simple metal circlets you’d see in a movie.   
  
As for her clothes… well, I was no expert in the history of fashion, but the woman’s dress and jewellery was too old-fashioned to be the norm in any of the last two centuries.   
  
When the woman saw me, her eyes widened a bit. “Syanna! So it’s true… You’re here.” She came closer, opening her arms for an embrace. “Sister, dear, what have you gotten yourself into?”   
  
I took a step to the side, neatly avoiding the hug. While I was a very physically affectionate person, I didn’t know this woman, and judging by the name she was calling out, this was a case of mistaken identity.   
  
“Your Majesty, this isn’t Syanna,” explained Geralt before I had opened my mouth to do so. “This is Rhena, the woman who was abducted. She looks exactly like Syanna, and I believe,” there was a small pause as Geralt’s eyebrows furrowed, looking at me searchingly, “Roderick had planned to use her to impersonate your sister for access to the throne.”   
  
The woman frowned at Geralt in disbelief. “Are you telling me that I cannot recognize my own sister? This is her, I’m sure of it.”   
  
I interrupted their conversation before it could escalate: “Geralt is right. My name is Réna. While I was captured, I was drugged to make me forget things and my captors tried manipulating me into believing I am Syanna.” Well, I wasn’t sure I had been drugged, but considering I turned amnesiac  _coincidentally_ at the same time as I was abducted, it was pretty obvious Roderick and his men had done something to me. “It was part of a ploy to—”   
  
“Syanna, do you truly expect me to believe that?” the woman snapped. She looked at me from head to toe. “If there is any doubt, I can prove it.”   
  
I blinked. “Really?” I wondered what proof she could have when I knew for a fact she was not my sister. I had never seen her before in my life!   
  
The woman tilted her chin up sharply. “Yes.” She glanced quickly at the three men at my side before looking back at me. “It is a bit indiscreet to mention such matters, but if the situation demands it, then I shall.” She took a breath. “On your right side, underneath your breast, is a large freckle that is dark and has a hair growing out of it—”   
  
“How do you know that?!” I exclaimed, face red. I was extremely self-conscious about that aspect of my body and whenever I wore a bikini, I would cover the freckle with water-proof makeup. Nobody had ever seen it. Well, except for my parents, but they didn’t know how much that part of my body bothered me, and had probably never paid any particular attention to it.   
  
“And on the inside of your right thigh,” the woman continued, not cowed in the least, “one of your body hairs is fairer than the rest and grows to an unprecedented length, sometimes as long as the palm of a hand.”   
  
Geralt coughed, turning away with what looked suspiciously like a smile.   
  
The woman with the crown still wasn’t done: “Also—”   
  
“That proves nothing!” I snapped, desperate to prevent her from spilling any more embarrassing details.   
  
No longer interested in what I had to say, the woman turned to Geralt. “What have they done to my sister?”   
  
“I’m not your sister!” I insisted, resisting the urge to stomp my feet like a child.   
  
Geralt’s gaze went from the woman to me and back again. He hesitated. “I’m… not sure.” He looked at me inquisitively as if he expected me to have any answers.   
  
The woman inhaled sharply. “Well, then I shall have Roderick of Dun Tynne tell me what he has done to my poor sister’s mind, and then I shall brand the man a traitor to the state and have his head cut off for daring to hurt the ducal family!”   
  
I stared at her, wide-eyed. Shit, this woman was crazy.   
  
By now, more of the so-called authorities had shown up. A bald man with a moustache curling upwards at the sides came to a stop next to the woman with the crown who I was assuming was the ‘duchess’ that had been mentioned a few times. A few other men in knightly attire were waiting nearby.   
  
I still didn’t understand why everyone was dressed like something out of the Middle Ages. The policemen weren’t even armed with guns and didn’t have any insignia deeming them to be cops.   
  
This entire situation was so confusing it made me doubt my own sanity, wondering if I had just gone insane a while ago and, like every insane person, thought I was still of sound mind.   
  
The possibility terrified me, especially since it sounded much more plausible than vampires existing and cops randomly cosplaying as Game of Thrones extras while on the job.   
  
Had I gone insane?   
  
My legs weakened and I had to hold on to Dettlaff to avoid falling down.   
  
“Are you all right?” asked Dettlaff, crouching down a little.   
  
I slid down and sat on the ground, since I wasn’t very stable on my feet. I gave him a half-hearted smile.   
  
“I’m fine, I’m just...” Confused? Lost? Homesick? Afraid? … Possibly a lunatic who was hallucinating all of this while safe inside a psychiatric facility? “I just need a moment.”   
  



	4. Chapter 4

“Dead?” repeated Anarietta incredulously.  
  
“He bled out while we were rescuing Rhena,” explained one of my rescuers, the one with white hair and a vicious scar over his left eye. His name was Geralt, if I remembered correctly.  
  
Anarietta’s expression turned dark. “I had hoped for information, but no matter. At least my sister is safe.”  
  
I didn’t say anything to refute that last sentence. It had become clear that I was missing critical information, and I did not want to speak further while lacking a thorough understanding of the situation.  
  
The duchess shook her head. “I’ll have my men bring the remaining survivors to the dungeon to be interrogated. They’ll be heading out now.”  
  
“Will Her Grace not be coming with us?” asked one of the soldiers, his different clothing indicating a higher rank than the rest of the troops. He was bald, with a mustache that curled up at the ends.  
  
“Not at the moment, Damien,” said Anarietta. “Syanna has obviously not been fed well, so I want to head to the nearest inn for a warm meal. You’ll accompany us, of course, and we’ll return to the palace afterwards.”  
  
She turned to the white-haired man. “Geralt, I thank you for your hard work. You have returned my sister to me. With Roderick dead, the Beast shouldn’t make more victims, correct?”  
  
Geralt’s eyes flicked to his two companions, Regis and Dettlaff. Regis gave him a smile back. “No, Your Highness. With the extortion over, there should be no more deaths.”  
  
Anarietta nodded. “Come to the palace tomorrow afternoon. I will have your payment ready, as well as a fitting recompense for all you have done for me.”  
  
Regis stepped forward. “Your Grace?”  
  
“Yes?”  
  
He hesitated. “You see, Dettlaff and I met your… _sister_ a few years ago and became fast friends. It was quite the surprise to realize the one we knew as Rhena might be your sister. Now is not the best time for catching up, so would it be possible to visit her when she is a little better?”  
  
Dettlaff wasn’t saying anything, but his stare betrayed his intent on hearing the answer.  
  
Anarietta turned to me. “You know them, Syanna?” My blank stare must’ve been enough of an answer. “Ah, yes, your memory problems.” She frowned. “Roderick is lucky he’s dead, or I would’ve made him wish he were for doing this to you.”  
  
I mean… I was held against my will, but I wouldn’t want the guy responsible to be killed or tortured over it. Several years in prison would be enough for me.  
  
“You may join Geralt tomorrow at the palace,” said Anarietta with a sweeping gesture of her hand, making the pearls along her sleeves shine in the sun. She gave me a searching look. “Is that all right?”  
  
Seeing my rescuers again… On one hand, it would be reassuring and I could use the opportunity to asks questions because, damn, vampires were real! But on the other hand, they’d massacred just about everyone in this castle on their way to rescue me, and that made me a little nervous.  
  
In the end, I just nodded at Anarietta, figuring that I’d be seeing them again in public and it’d be unlikely for me to be attacked.  
  
Everything happened quickly after that.  
  
Nearly all of the soldiers left with a few prisoners—I counted three, although there might have been more—until the only ones left were Anarietta, three soldiers including the one she’d asked to remain behind, Geralt, Regis, Dettlaff and myself.  
  
Geralt was clearly ready to leave, but he was staying behind to keep an eye on Regis and Dettlaff, who hadn’t left yet. _Correction_ , I realized as I paid more attention, Geralt was looking at Dettlaff in particular.  
  
Hmm. The people who had abducted me had mentioned that they were using me as leverage to make my “lover” kill targets they’d chosen. At the time I’d scoffed at the thought, knowing I had no boyfriend, let alone one who could serve as a hitman. Yet now that I thought about it, I had suspicious memory problems and had been saved by Dettlaff, who had hugged me upon seeing me and clearly cared for me a lot, and had revealed himself to be a vampire, or at least capable of feats I could not explain through ordinary means.  
  
At this moment, I was starting to think my situation might be a case of dimension travel or reincarnation. It was straining my credulity to believe everyone was just dressing like they came from the Middle Ages for the fun of it. I had read a lot of books in the past where a character arrives in another dimension. I was a huge fan of manga and anime from the isekai genre, which meant a character being transported to another world, and I’d read enough self-insert fanfics for various fandoms to at least consider the possibility that I might be in another dimension.  
  
Was it easier to believe I was surrounded by people dressing in medieval clothing for no discernible reason, and that vampires existed? Or that I’d travelled to a medieval fantasy dimension containing mythological creatures such as vampires?  
  
Honestly, at this point I was starting to lean towards the latter, albeit with reservations. I needed to find a way to ask what the current year was to see if my hypothesis of dimension travel was correct.  
  
Anyway, I was wondering, could I really be this Syanna everyone thought I was? Maybe Syanna was a version of me from an alternate dimension, and I’d ended up as her when I arrived here, and she was back in my body in 21 st Century Earth? Or maybe I’d died, been reborn as Syanna, had lived a life here and then ingested something that made me forget my life as Syanna and only remember the one as Séréna? But if that was the case, why were some people calling me Réna while others called me Syanna?  
  
Perhaps I’d asked some people to call me Réna, unwilling to forget the name of my first life?  
  
Anyway, so Geralt was keeping an eye out for Dettlaff, who looked really unwilling to be parted from me. Lacking the knowledge of what my relationship with Dettlaff might be, I just gave him a weak smile.  
  
“I’ll see you tomorrow, when I’ve eaten and bathed?” I winced a little at the thought of what I might look like. “I’m not exactly presentable and I need to freshen up.”  
  
My clothing undoubtedly smelled terrible. While the buckets of water had taken care of the pee when my bladder had given up, it hadn’t helped with… other stuff. I’ll spare you the details, but suffice to say, there was no way I wanted to spend any further time around people than I had to. I could deal with Anarietta and a few soldiers, but a large group of people? No thank you.  
  
I wasn’t easily embarrassed but even I had limits.  
  
Dettlaff looked at me a little longer, before nodding slowly. “I shall see you soon.”  
  
He turned around and, joined by Regis and Geralt, left.  
  
“I have brought an additional horse for you,” Anarietta told me.  
  
It shouldn’t have been what made me decide, but the mention of a horse instead of a car tilted my opinion in the direction of ‘I am in another dimension’.  
  
“Could I have a change of clothes first?” I asked plaintively. “And maybe a bath?” Considering the mess between my legs, I don’t not want to sit on anything.  
  
She softened. “Of course.”  
  
  
  
  
  


-x-x-x-

  
  
  
  
  
A bathtub was found, and Damien de la Tour, who Anarietta introduced to me as the captain of the ducal guard, ordered the two remaining soldiers to bring buckets of water and towels. I wiped the worst of the mess off myself with wet towels before bathing in lukewarm water. Since there were clothes in the room I had been held in, I dressed in a white linen shirt, with a waistcoat on top containing embroidery along the edges. I also wore a pair of trousers, which seemed anachronistic in the Middle Ages but received no raised eyebrows from Anarietta.  
  
Shoes were a little harder, as every pair had high heels for some reason and my legs were still weak from my captivity. I picked dark brown leather boots with thick heels, knowing I’d have to watch my step while I got used to walking again after a week spent tied to a chair.  
  
I still didn’t feel entirely clean. The soap I was provided did not create any lather, which had led to me fruitlessly rubbing and rubbing with nothing to show for it. I knew there were soaps that didn’t not create any bubbles, and they probably did do the job, but it didn’t make me feel clean. Well, at least I’d scrubbed off a layer of dirt. I had never gone so long without a shower.  
  
Still, I was content. I might be wondering where I was, who these people were and if I was still in my own dimension, but at least I was safe and free. Questions could come after I would have eaten.  
  
“Are you ready, Syanna?” asked Anarietta. She was holding the bridle of a dark grey horse covered in white spots everywhere, with a black mane and tail. Its face, contrasting its body, was so light it could nearly be considered white.  
  
I didn’t correct her on the name, despite knowing that it would be best not to encourage her beliefs until the situation was cleared.  
  
“Is that your horse?” I asked instead.  
  
She shook her head. “No. This one is for you. I do not know if you have been riding since I saw you last, so I brought Pâquerette. She is easy to handle and will follow my horse without needing anything from you. It should make things easier.”  
  
“We won’t be riding fast, will we?” I asked, eyeing the horse.  
  
I had done horse-riding lessons as a child, and while I’d forgotten a lot, I shouldn’t have any problems climbing up on the horse. I could ride at a slow pace, but if I had to deal with a gallop then I’d probably look incredibly stiff and give myself backaches after a prolonged ride.  
  
“Why? Are you in pain?” Anarietta put a hand on my elbow, worried. “We will be going at a canter. Is that manageable?”  
  
“Ah, it’s fine,” I told her, placing my hand on top of hers. “I’m not great at riding; it’s been a while. If we could take it easy, that would be great.”  
  
“We will indeed, ‘take it easy’.”  
  
I snorted. That confusion at the moderately-modern slang was yet another point in the ‘medieval fantasy alternate dimension’ category.  
  
I wanted one more hint to fully convince me, although I was already 95% there and only my inner sceptic prevented me from believing I’d travelled through space and time.´That hint was the current year. Unfortunately, I couldn’t find a way to ask that question smoothly. Maybe I could start with the date and then play up the amnesia to get a year?  
  
“Say…” I began hesitantly, as Anarietta made the horse come closer, “what’s today’s date? I lost track while I was being held.”  
  
I could see the pity and care in her eyes. “Today?” she repeated. “It’s the thirty-sixth of Lammas.”  
  
Yeah… I was _definitively_ not in my home universe anymore.  
  
“I don’t think I’ve been held too long...” I said, faking a confused look. “What’s the year?”  
  
Now Anarietta seemed even more worried about me. “It’s 1275, Syanna. Have your memory problems made you forget several years of your life?”  
  
Fuck. Not even the right millennium.  
  
  
  
  
  


-x-x-x-

  
  
  
  
  
By the time Anarietta was making our group stop at a nearby inn, I had gone through the memories of my captivity several times, correction various misconceptions I’d made due to faulty assumptions.  
  
Firstly, killing off Danish monarchy to put a puppet on the throne. That was likely incorrect. I’d been stressed and scared, and hadn’t thought of how many people would have to be killed before I was in line for the throne. Surely there would have been someone easier to manipulate with a better claim?  
  
Secondly, the Danish monarchy didn’t have all that much power over the rule of the country. They were more of a figurehead, a symbol. Like the monarchy in Sweden or Britain.  
  
Thirdly, there’s no way no one would have been suspicious about the string of convenient deaths before I got on the throne.  
  
The more I thought of it, the more I realized that my belief, which had seemed so plausible at the time, was in fact quite ridiculous.  
  
Instead, I tried looking at things with a fresh pair of eyes. The way everyone was dressed, no cars or even modern roads and signalization, no whites lines across the sky left by aeroplanes, no telephone poles… And then there was the mention of a different calendar, with a strangely-named month and a year that was entirely wrong for me but correct for the late Middle Aged-aesthetic of my surroundings.  
  
Yeah, I hadn’t noticed it before, I was certain, now. I’d ended up in another dimension entirely. There were several names for this in the stories I used to read. Transmigration, Self-Insert, OC-Insert, Isekai, Modern Character In Another World, etc.  
  
If I turned out to be wrong and this was a huge prank, I’d laugh and say it was so convincing I had believed it. But at the moment, I wasn’t sceptical at all. I _believed_ .  
  
It would be embarrassing if I found out that there hadn’t been any dimension travel at all, but it would be even more embarrassing if I continued ignoring the obvious. I needed to be informed in order to know how to handle things. After all, I was apparently the sister of a duchess, unless said duchess was recognizing the wrong person as ‘Syanna’. And if reading A Song of Ice and Fire had taught me anything, it was how cut-throat politics could be in the Middle Ages. I should not wallow in my ignorance when doing so could put me at risk of something I was unaware of.  
  
Anyway, while furiously thinking over everything I’d seen and heard from the moment I woke up in my abductor’s hands, I was also taking in the gorgeous landscape. There were several rolling plains of long grass, presumably for cattle. A few forests where here and there, and there were also many vinyards with fat grapes, ready for harvest. Beyond all of that were mountains in every direction, with one looking like two needles with a small pass between them.  
  
Anarietta caught me looking at the grapes. She smiled. “I have quite the collection of wine at home. It’s twice the size it was back when our parents were in charge. I have a rare Zubarran dry, or we could...” She hesitated. “We could try some Sangreal. Some bottles were bought from the maker without my knowledge, and I had thought that you...” She paused again, conflicted. “No matter. It must have been Roderick.”  
  
I had no idea what she was going on about. Being polite, I just nodded and smiled back as if I understood.  
  
“We will be stopping at a nearby inn, the Cockatrice, for a warm meal,” decided the duchess.  
  
Damien nodded. “Yes, Your Grace. Will we be making any other stops along the way?”  
  
“No. After we’ve eaten, we’ll ride back to Beauclair. I will feel happier once we are safe within the walls of the palace.”  
  
Personally, I was more interested in the meal. I’d been quite the difficult prisoner, unwilling to eat things that went against my morals, and that had resulted in quite a loss of weight as well as an omni-present sense of hunger.  
  
I hoped Anarietta wouldn’t judge me for being a vegetarian. This wasn’t the 21 st century, where such a thing was known and not seen as strange. In the Middle Ages, I wasn’t sure if vegetarianism even existed, as most people couldn’t afford to eat enough to fill their stomachs and wouldn’t have the privilege of saying no to certain foods.  
  
I wondered if animals were treated worse at this point in time. The meat industry wouldn’t be as large, with animals stuffed into tiny places and growing up without a glimpse of the sun. But then again, a lot of laws protecting animals, be they pets, wild animals or animals meant for consumption, were relatively recent laws. Most people in the Middle Ages didn’t care about a species possibly going extinct.  
  
So I honestly couldn’t tell if I’d be mocked or if my wish for a meatless option would be accepted. It would be a bit annoying if Anarietta judged me, but as long as she continued feeding and housing me while I tried to figure things out, everything should be all right.

-x-x-x-

The Cockatrice Inn was set on a white stone bridge, with a river flowing beneath. There were more people here, some walking and others on the backs of horses or mules.  
  
Anarietta had pulled a hood up to hide her identity, so no one made any noise about a duchess being there.  
  
The air felt fresh, different from the polluted environment you’d find in a city in the 21st century. However, that impression was swiftly ruined when one of the animals farted, making my nose twitch.  
  
The inn itself was small, rather quaint, but it was only when we entered that we realized the inherent problem that came with such size.  
  
There weren’t any empty tables.  
  
I could see the realization appear on Anarietta’s face. She looked around, hopeful, but everywhere was full.  
  
“Shall we wait until one of the tables empties?” asked Damien. “Or perhaps we can order food and eat it outside, like a picnic?”  
  
Anarietta frowned at that last one, uninterested. “No. I think we have no possibility other than eating at the palace—”  
  
At that moment, a man sitting alone at one of the tables noticed us and waved us over.  
  
“Are you looking for a place to sit?” he asked. “Come, I have some space.”  
  
The table the man was sitting at was meant for four people, but we were five, so Damien ordered the two nameless soldiers part of the duchess’ guard to order sandwiches and eat outside. That left him, Anarietta and I.  
  
Anarietta went first, and we followed.  
  
The man who invited us was bald, his cheeks slightly rounded as if they hadn’t lost their baby-fat despite him being at least in his thirties. He wore dusty white pants and a closed, worn suede jacket.  
  
“Thank you,” said Anarietta, sitting down in front of the man. I sat down to her left and Damien went to the remaining seat in front of me and next to the man who had called us over.  
  
“Of course, of course!” said the man with a welcoming smile. “I couldn’t leave the duchess herself without a table!”  
  
“You recognize me?” asked Anarietta, an eyebrow raised.  
  
Since Anarietta had put a cloak on and pulled up the hood, the only thing one could tell about her was that she was a woman with a pleasing shape and carefully manicured hands coming out of her sleeves. Half of her face was set in shadows.  
  
It was the least subtle disguise ever, but I’d been too polite to tell her so.  
  
“No disguise can hide the beauty of her illustrious highness,” said the man, with the tone of someone explaining a fact of life.  
  
The corners of my lips twitched upwards when I saw the slight fluster on Anarietta’s face.  
  
“Well, we appreciate you allowing us to share the table,” she said.  
  
The man’s smile broadened. “It’s a pleasure. My name is Gaunter O’Dimm, merchant of mirrors.”  
  
“Are you on your way to sell some wares?” asked Damien, leaning forward.  
  
“No,” said Gaunter, growing more serious. “There’s been an anomaly around Toussaint recently that I’m investigating. In my line of work, it’s important to stay informed of any potential problems that might obstruct trade, so here I am.” He opened his arms to gesture at himself.  
  
Hm. My mind thought of what problems could prevent a merchant of mirrors from plying his trade. Perhaps a lack of natural resources to make mirrors, or a new competitor?  
  
“I have not heard of any problems with trade,” said Anarietta. “Outside of Toussaint, perhaps, but not here.”  
  
“That does not surprise me, Your Grace.” He put his forearms on the table, leaning a little closer. “We operate on different levels of importance. My jurisdiction is one you are unlikely to hear about, as a woman busy administrating her sizeable duchy.” He inclined his head to the side. “An ant’s affairs are of little concern to a boot, and vice-versa.”  
  
Anarietta frowned. “Do not belittle yourself so. You are no ant.”  
  
Gaunter’s smile was back. “Of course not.” He nodded towards the counter, manned by a woman busy serving a drink to an old man. “How about you order some food and join me for a meal?”  
  
“Damien,” said Anarietta, turning to the man in question, “can you bring us some simple fare?”  
  
The man rose. Before he could leave, I put a hand on his elbow to halt him.  
  
“Excuse me. Could you order something without meat or fish?”  
  
He didn’t question it. “I will do so.”  
  
“So,” began Gaunter, once Damien was gone, “I know Her Grace, Anna-Henrietta, of course, but I am unfamiliar with you.” He looked at me. “May I have your name?”  
  
“Réna Hayes,” I told him, while mulling over his words. He’d called the duchess ‘Anna-Henrietta’, so did that mean that ‘Anarietta’ was a nickname?  
  
Something in his face twitched. “Really?” He looked me up and down. “It seems a bit short, for a name. Is there a second name in there too?”  
  
He was right. That wasn’t my full name, but I tended to avoid saying my full name except in official situation because, well… ‘Séréna Angharad Thorsten Hayes’ was a bit long and sounded pretentious. I’d always get comments when I told people my full name, so eventually I just called myself ‘Séréna Hayes’, or shortened it even further to ‘Réna Hayes’.  
  
“It’s actually Séréna Hayes,” I explained giving him a longer, but still shortened form of my real name, “but I used to know another Séréna, so to avoid confusion people would call me Réna.”  
  
“Interesting,” he responded, still seeming somewhat disappointed.  
  
My eyebrows twitched, wondering what he had expected. Since I was in the company of a duchess, did he think my name would be ‘Séréna des Hayes’ or something suitably noble-seeming?  
  
Speaking of the duchess, she clearly wasn’t happy upon hearing me call myself ‘Séréna’ instead of ‘Syanna’, but she hadn’t said anything, probably not wanting to have such a conversation in front of a stranger.  
  
Damien came back at this moment, managing to balance three bowls of soup in his arms. I hurriedly rose to help him, taking one of the bowls out of his hands.  
  
“I ordered the _plat du jour,_ ” he said. “It’s a nice vegetable potage. It should warm you up and put some meat on your bones.”  
  
I smiled reluctantly, not wishing to think of how I must look, after eight days of eating only half or less of the meals I’d been given, fed by stubborn people who thought I was being ungrateful for not consuming the entire contents of my plate.  
  
“Thank you, uh… Damien.” I wasn’t quite sure if I was allowed to call him by his first name, but hopefully it wouldn’t be a problem.  
  
The man didn’t seem to care, responding with a simple “At your service.”  
  
Since we were in some sort of alternate version of France, we were of course all speaking in French. And one thing French had that wouldn’t come across in English was two ways of saying the singular ‘you’. Those ways were either _‘tu’_ or _‘vous’_. The second one was more polite, and was also a synonym of the plural ‘you’. The word ‘your’ was translated to _‘ton’_ or _‘votre’_ according to the level of politeness.  
  
English used to have two forms like in French, ‘thou’ and ‘you’, but ‘thou’ fell out of favour until only the more formal ‘you’ remained, used today.  
  
So when Damien said ‘At your service’, he used the polite form, _‘À votre service’_.  
  
“You can _tutoyer_ me,” I told him.  
  
‘ _Tutoyer’_ was a word that couldn’t be translated in English. It basically meant, ‘using the informal mode of address’. The other term would be _‘vouvoyer’_ , for ‘using the formal mode of address’. Since Damien wasn’t that much older than me, I didn’t mind if he used _‘tu’_ for me.  
  
Damien grimaced. “I wouldn’t dare. Speaking informally to Her Grace’s sister?” He shook his head, conflicted.  
  
“You don’t have to, if it makes you uncomfortable,” I said, not wanting to insist on such a minor thing. It just felt a bit like a distance was put between us when he spoke so formally and was not particularly welcoming. It wasn’t a large problem, so I’d just have to accept it.  
  
“It would be inappropriate,” said Anarietta, voice low, “for an unrelated man to speak so informally with a celibate woman.”  
  
The remark was pointed, but not mean, so I took it for the constructive criticism it was and gave her a quick smile. “Thanks for the tip.”  
  
I picked up a spoon, ready to dig in, but Anarietta nudged me and made me wait until Damien came back from his second trip, this time with alcohol. It was only when everyone was seated and ready that Anarietta said “Bon appétit!”, another term that didn’t quite translate but was basically a wish that everyone would have a good appetite, and it was something said before meals.  
  
Finally allowed to eat, I brought a spoonful of potage to my mouth. I could feel peas, carrots, cream, and a hint of something else. It was good, if a little bland. I would’ve added some salt, but the inn didn’t provide a salt-shaker at each time like I was used to.  
  
“There’s no salt?” I asked Anarietta.  
  
She shook her head, and finished her mouthful before responding, “Salt is too expensive for an inn outside the capital. When we’ll eat together at the palace, you can have all the salt you want.”  
  
Hm. In a world without cars, planes, and other forms of fast travel, land-locked countries might not have an easy time acquiring salt. Salt was once considered ‘white gold’ and there used to exist a ‘Salt Route’ just like there was a ‘Silk Road’. I was in the 13th century of a fantasy land that seemed to follow my own world’s chronology, so salt’s rarity was to be expected.  
  
However, I was also in a Middle Aged fantasy land which spoke modern French instead of a more antiquated form, and had vampires and probably other supernatural creatures. I suspected I might be in a fictional world written by a fantasy author, perhaps a French one. It would explain the use of modern, understandable French, if a version closer to the 19th century than the 21st.  
  
But then again, Familiar of Zero was written by a Japanese author, and happened in a French fantasy land with characters called Louise and Colbert, so there was no way to tell if the probably-fictional world I was in was written by a French author. That would make it significantly harder for me to identify what world it might be, if I was familiar with it.  
  
I decided to stop thinking of it and let go of my worries. I had food in front of me, I had bathed and received a change of clothes, and I would be sleeping in a palace because the owner considered me her sister. So far, everything was much better than it had been yesterday, and I really should be basking in this feeling of happiness and contentment instead of worrying about what-ifs.  
  
So I just focused on finishing my meal, occasionally answering a question from Gaunter, who turned out to be a chatty fellow. I remained vague when he asked questions about me, unsure if should continue pretending to be amnesiac or just answer as myself, so I just gave him short, meaningless answers.  
  
When we were done eating and had paid for the meal, Anarietta, Damien and I went outside to join the two nameless guards and go back on our horses. I didn’t need any help mounting mine, thankfully, although there was one heart-stopping moment when I feared I wouldn’t have the strength to pull myself up on Pâquerette.  
  
Once we were on our horses, we all headed slowly towards the bridge. I turned around and waved at Gaunter, who had come out to see us off. He raised his hand to return the gesture, gaze squarely on me.  
  
We crossed the bridge and followed a trail towards the Beauclair, accompanied by the sounds of hooves on dirt roads.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yesterday, the federal council of my country announced that all schools and universities will be closed. That includes my university. I won't be going back before April 6th, at the very least. Since we share a border with Italy, which has been quarantined, it was only a matter of time until my country took measures.
> 
> If there's at least one good news, it's that I'll have more time to write. Since this is the last pre-written chapter I have, I can't predict when future chapters will be out.
> 
> Please, if your country is still relatively untouched, take the opportunity to stock up on food that doesn't rot fast such as nuts, dried fruits, anything in cans or jars, pasta, rice, UHT milk, etc. Get enough to last two weeks. Avoid using public transportation, try to stay at home as much as possible, don't shake hands with people and try to be even more diligent that usual about washing hands. Also, limit contact with the elderly or those with compromised immune systems, because they are most at risk.
> 
> Sorry if this is a bit of a downer message. I know most of us like reading fanfiction to escape from real life and de-stress, but I thought it important to tell you to prepare yourself in case you haven't already.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the chapter. This is the last one I had in reserve, so I'm not sure when the next will be out. I'll post it on a Saturday, so you at least know what day of the week it'll be.

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked the story, you might want to check out my other Witcher fic, [Lullaby of the Isles](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21879331), an OC-Insert into a monster who is being hunted down by Geralt.


End file.
